willing to attempt the journey we could get through with them some
way, and I saw no reason why I should change my plans.

Low-hanging clouds, flying snowflakes and a rising northeast wind
threatened a heavy storm on Sunday morning, October twenty-second,
when the _Pelican_ weighed anchor at ten o'clock, with us on board and
the small boat, the _Explorer_, that was to carry us westward in tow,
and steamed down the George River, at whose mouth, twenty miles below,
we were to leave her, to meet new and unexpected dangers and
hardships.

At the Post the river is a mile and a half in width. About eight
miles farther down its banks close in and "the Narrows" occur, and
then it widens again. There is very little growth of any kind below
the Narrows. The rocks are polished smooth and bare as they rise from
the water's edge, and it is as desolate and barren a land as one's
imagination could picture, but withal possesses a rugged grand beauty
in its grim austerity that is impressive.

About three or four miles above the open bay the _Pelican's_ engines
ceased to throb and the _Explorer_ was hauled alongside. Everything
but the provisions for the Eskimo crew was already aboard. We said a
hurried adieu and, watching our chances as the boat rose and fell on
the swell, dropped one by one into the little craft. A bag of ship's
biscuit, the provisions of our Eskimos, was thrown after us. Most of
them went into the sea and were lost, and we needed them sadly later.
I thought we should swamp as each sea hit us before we could get away,
and when we were finally off the boat was half full of water.

The Eskimos hoisted a sail and turned to the west bank of the river,